Fire, Fruit, Paper, and Smex
by SinSong
Summary: Four connected short stories, spawned from word prompts given to me by the coolest maid ever. Starring: Gregory House, and Robert Chase. Mostly fluff, but it'll build up to some rather mild slash. Rated T for safety, but rating could rise.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If I owned this, such chaos would already have ensued.

This is the first of four short stories, each one spawned from word prompts from one of my dear friends. Sorry if it's awkward, it's my first fic. Like, ever. So if you'd like to make your reading experience less painful, please review, or at least comment. I could probably use the criticism.

Sooooo...yeah. This will contain slash. Mostly fluff in the beginning, but stuff gets kinda...dirty towards the end. If you don't like it, don't look. Now fly away.

Onto the story~

* * *

**FIRE**

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* * *

**

**Roof. Now. **

That was the page Foreman, Cameron, and Chase got. Their most recent patient had been released earlier that day (sarcoidosis) and they hadn't even filed an assault charge against House for that minor incident with the IV pole. So none of them could see any reason that would warrant them being summoned to the roof of the hospital. Unless it involved getting pushed over the railing, which, disturbingly enough, they could all see happening.

They were sitting in the conference room when they got the page, and were still silently brainstorming when another came.

**Last one here gets to help in maternity.**

Chase and Foreman took one look at each other, and then tore out of the room like bats out of hell, leaving a surprised and slightly amused Cameron behind. She shook her head slightly, and left the room at a light jog. She didn't really mind having to work in maternity-since she was, after all, female- but didn't see a reason to give House a reason to give her an equally menial and laborous task somewhere else because she'd been taking her sweet time.

_After all, _she thought to herself, _House'll probably make one of them do it anyway_. _He's a jerk like that_.

* * *

When she finally made it to the rooftop, she arrived to find Chase and Foreman slumped against the wall, panting like dogs. Cameron snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You two must really hate newborns to move that fast."

Chase took a few moments before panting out, "It's less of me hating newborns, more of me hating where they come from. I couldn't deal with that."

Foreman gave a derisive snort, shaking his head in disbelief. "Please. You were just having trouble keeping up with me. Should I tell her about how you tried to pull me down the stairs by my labcoat? Or how when that failed and you tripped going _up_stairs tried to bring me down with you."

Cameron was just about to laugh at Chase's rapidly reddening face when they heard a voice calling out from somewhere behind them. "Was that House?" Cameron asked.

"I don't know who else would be up here. It's fucking freezing." Chase grumbled.

"Yeah, whatever, Wonder from Down Under," Foreman quipped. He had never been very patient with Chase's whinging about the New Jersey weather. "Let's just find House and get whatever crazy shit he's cooked up to put down his boredom over with."

"Wonder from Down Under? Well done, Foreman, that's almost mediocre. Keep up the crappy work."

Foreman, Cameron, and Chase all whipped around to find House- how in hell had he moved so quiet?- leaning against the door, his signature smirk plastered across his face. He turned and started walking towards the far end of the roof, throwing a, "Follow mommy, ducklings," over his shoulder, but not even checking to see if they were following. He knew they would.

When they caught up to him, they found him fiddling with a pile of paper and dead leaves. Chase noticed that there was a bag of marshmallows, some unbent coathangers, and a bottle of something that was undoubtedly flammable. "House, if you wanted to roast marshmallows, we could've just done it in the conference room. I know you have no problems with damaging hospital property, so why do we need to join you on your little Kumbayah moment up here, on the roof, in the cold?" Chase asked irritably. And in his defense it really _was _cold. House hadn't told them to bring jackets, but they'd all assumed they would only be up here for a while.

House just ignored him, opting to upend the entire contents of the bottle over the pile. He pulled himself back into a standing position, and fished around in his pocket before he pulled a lighter out of his pocket with a triumphant expression on his face. He handed it too Foreman. "I know you enjoyed setting things on fire when you were younger like all good little hoodrats, so do the honors for us, my brutha."

Foreman glared, but he flipped the lighter open and set the pile ablaze, and they all moved closer, appreciating the sudden rise in temparature. House plopped down and pulled the beg of marshmallows towards himself. He looked up and gave an exasperated sigh when he found that Chase, Cameron, and Foreman were still standing. "Don't make me sit by myself guys," he whined, in a rather accurate impression of a preppy schoolgirl. "The cheerleaders will, like, totally think I'm a loser!"

Foreman let out an exasperated sigh of his own and looked House square in the eyes. "House, I'm tired. We just let a patient go. Could this possibly wait?"

House gave him a long look before saying, "First one to leave gets maternity duty."

There was silence except for the crackling of the fire.

Cameron looked to Chase, to Foreman, and back again before rolling her eyes and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Boys," before turning around and leaving. "I have to pick up my aunt at the airport," she called back. "Have a marshmallow for me!"

She didn't so much as shrug when House yelled out he was putting her down for a week of 2 A.M. shifts.

House looked to his remaining two ducklings, eyeing them expectantly. Chase had sat down and was focused on getting close enough to the fire to get the most out of it's heat without setting his hair on fire. Foreman looked like he was about to make the hardest situation of his life. He finally sighed and mumbled something about having to bring his car in for his service, then walked away, leaving House and Chase.

Chase stared into the heart of the fire. "And then there were two," he said quietly. He took a marshmallow from the bag and speared it on the end of his wire, then put in the flames to toast.

House did the same, saying, "Yeah, just those with the daddy issues left. Should make for some real fun conversation. So, do you wanna talk about your feelings, or should we have a good cry to get us going?"

Chase gave a little half-smile before pulling his marshmallow out of the fire and eating it. "So why'd you wanna do this all of a sudden? And all the way up here?" he asked thickly. The marshmallow was gumming up his mouth and making it hard to talk properly. And _damn_ if the thing wasn't hot.

House shrugged. "I was bored. And the setting fits the mood I'm in. Y'know, the whole, 'I'm lonely, so I think I'll sit on the roof and sing a Woody Guthrie song."

Chase kept his face clear, while his brain was working furiously. House, feeling lonely? Scratch that, House_ feeling_? This did not compute.

Realizing he'd been silent too long, Chase scrambled to recover. "Why were feeling lonely?" he asked, not looking at House as he did so. The man was an expert at reading people.

House gave Chase a serious, level gaze...

...and Chase was suddenly held captive by the fierce gaze of two circles of ice blue. The firelight was refracting off of them and making it look like there was a fire, low but strong, burning somewhere deep inside of House.

"-and I need you to pay for the sonogram," House said. "Now, take responsibility, and marry me."

Chase blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what House had just said. When he just gave House a blank look, the older man just shook his head and said, "Jesus, wombat, when I called you mentally retarded, I never suspected it might be true. Keep up."

When House looked over, he found the younger man smirking slightly, the firelight giving his long blond hair a deep goldish look. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, Chase simply smiled and looked back into the fire. House snorted and reached over to shove the Aussie's shoulder, knocking him over. And if when Chase sat back up and scooted close the fire again, he scooted closer to House at the same time... Well, that wasn't _too_ bad.

After all, he'd gotten an almost-compliment out of the old man.

* * *

Reviews/comments are my anti-drug. Sorry if I forgot to mention that before. So unless you want a fellow Chouse'shipper to relapse... *shrugs*


	2. Fruit

Sorry for the long wait. I...kicked a hole in my wall over Thanksgiving, and I wanted to get that done before i started this up again.

Thank you to the people who commented! See the exclamation point there? Yeah, that doesn't happen often. Signifying how happy I am that you took the time to comment, seeing as I couldn't disappoint my adoring fans. -shot-

Nothing really dirty here, as this chapter is more of a setup for the next one. That's also why it's so short. Don't worry, I promise I'll bust my ass to get the next chapter out, seeing as how I want to up the quality factor.

Disclaimer: As I sit here listening to Black Rock Shooter, I mourn the sequence of misfortunes that denied me the oppurtunity to own House for myself. I suppose it may be a blessing in disguise, seeing how I have absolutely no knowledge of anything pertaining to medicine, only an extremely dirty mind. =w=b

With all that fun stuff outta the way, on to the next chapter~

* * *

**Fruit**

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* * *

**

_Brandy (the hooker currently employed as House's masseuse) was packing up her massage tabel and ointments when she suddenly found her view obscured by an apple. She looked up in confusion, not sure what foreplay could be done with an apple. Seeing her confusion, House just rolled his eyes. "It's an apple. A fruit. Grows on trees. Supplies nutrients to the human body that keep you from collapsing." Leaving Brandy to scowl over being talked to in caveman lingo, House grabbed an apple for himself and bit into it. His lips slid over the skin, tongue relishing the crisp tang of the juice. He chewed loudly (years of perfecting his horrendous table manners at work) and swallowed. Brandy whistled lowly to herself. House just smirked. "I understand I'm a sexy beast and you're job is doing naughty things with rich men, but I'm not in the mood," he said, walking out of the room and into his kitchen." I've paid you, and on top of that, I've fed you. Now get out." he called back. Brandy just rolled her eyes and picked up packing where she had left off. Having finished, she strode for the door. Before leaving she called back, "Y'know, you can tell how good someone is at kissing by how they eat an apple. It's all in the lips. You may be an asshole... but you're pretty good at it." She promptly left, off for another night on the corner. House was silent before smirking to himself again, and then took another bite of his apple._

* * *

"House."

The man who the name belonged to came out of his flashback with a rather disconcerting jolt, realizing he'd been completely ignoring Cameron and Foreman's attempts at diagnosing the team's new patient. Instead, he'd started staring at Chase's mouth as he ate an apple, watching the Aussie's neat, white teeth bit into it, the juice bubbling up and seeping out of his mouth, dripping down his chin, until he wiped it away with his hand.

House had never appreciated a fruit before as much as he did now.

"_House_."

House shook himself, and instead focused on the patient and his range of seemingly random symptoms. After coming up with a viable and suitable diagnosis, House sent his ducklings out to run the tests he deemed necessary. He noticed Chase had left his apple on the table in his haste. House stared at it, trying to figure out why he was so suddenly obsessed with the man. And yes, House could definitely say for a fact that he was obsessed with him. His brow furrowed, creating deep creases in his forehead as he tried to figure out why he was suddenly becoming Chase's personal stalker.

_It must have been after the bonfire on the roof_, he concluded. And it did make sense. He had seen more of Chase than he had before. The boy (which is what he was really, if his inability to dress himself was any indication) had let his more vulnerable side show through to House, and House had started to actually see Chase as a person rather than his employee. Chase had always been a bit more open with House, probably because House had given him his first job, despite his father issues and general lack of emotional backbone. House had found Chase an interesting specimen that he wanted to test in his own personalized torture chamber-esque petri dish. But now...

Now Chase was... something. House didn't know what. He had tried playing it down as a source of sensual pleasure, leering at Chase more than usual, paying more attention to his hair, and even going so far as to give him a few slaps on the ass when he was passing by. But the more House did this, the more he realized it wasn't lust, or even want he was feeling. The more he focused on a particular aspect of Chase's appearance, the more fascinated he became with it.

_Except his clothes_, House stated to himself firmly. Something needed to be done about that issue.

House picked up Chase's apple, staring at intensely for a minute, before a slow grin stole over his face. He bit into the same spot Chase had, relishing the taste. Strolling back to his office, he chucked the apple in the bin. It had given him the perfect idea to figure out what exactly Chase was to him. He settled into his chair, absently strumming his cane like a guitar, working out the kinks in his plan.

He needed a Mexican...

* * *

Again, short. Again, I'll make the next one better and longer... IF you comment. Naw, just kidding. I'll do it regardless. It's rather entertaining watching House plot... and Jesse Spencer is just so damn adorable.


	3. Paper

Dear God. This took so long to write. Sorry for making you all wait so long, but I needed to do a lot of stuff with this. It's hard to explain.

Anyways~, thanks again to those who reviewed! And yes, there will be slash. I'd shoot myself if this was nothing but angst and dirty thoughts. If you were one of those who were hoping for some slash and soon... well you're in for a pleasant surprise.

Sorry for OOC'ness, I try to avoid dialogue, but that would make for a boring story.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own this, I put this here because I have to. If it weren't for law enforcement, I'd be unstoppable.

* * *

Chase had had a rough night. He'd gotten back to his apartment at about three in the morning and had barely fallen asleep when he'd gotten a page telling him, in no uncertain terms, to drag his ass back to the hospital. And, as if to top it all off, Chase was confused. Majorly. Mentally, emotionally, and as much as it pained him to admit it...

Sexually.

Chase slid into his car and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. He groaned when the memory of what had happened two days previous rudely shoved its way to the forefront of his mind, the rapid whirl of emotions causing him to bang his head into the steering wheel to keep himself from losing it.

With a sigh, Chase leaned back and dragged a hand across his weary face, still scratchy from stubble. He needed to figure this thing out, and soon. He couldn't work like this, and he certainly couldn't work like this with House. Chase pulled out his pager and looked at the message again. His eyebrows met in the middle, his face pulled into one of intense decision. With another sigh, his face relaxed into one of weary decision.

House could wait. This was more important.

* * *

Chase decided that reviewing the memory of what happened would help. He certainly couldn't expect to figure it all out by random stabs in the dark.

The whole debacle had kicked off two days ago, when Cuddy had barged into the conference room.

"Where's House? He needs to get his clinic hours done."

Chase, being the only one in the room at the time, had told her he had no idea. Which was entirely true. He'd been in the middle of a crossword when House had walked in, grabbed some coffee, and then stalked (as well as a cripple is able) into his office. After playing with his PSP for a while, he'd gotten a call and stepped out.

Cuddy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. When he comes back, tell him he's got another 20 hours of clinic duty to do by next Friday. And that this time, I mean it." With that, she stepped out.

Chase just nodded and went back to his crossword, but listening for the arrhythmic steps that signaled House's return. The man had an uncanny ability to avoid Cuddy whenever it would prove inconvenient for him.

As if on cue, House burst into the room, throwing a file at Chase that hit him smack in the face. Frowning slightly, he opened the file, but was surprised to find it empty. He looked up with a questioning look, not getting the joke. House was writing symptoms on the whiteboard. After clearing his throat several times, Chase decided to just take the bait. "Where's the medical history, House? As much as I love a challenge, it makes it a lot easier to solve a puzzle when you actually have a clue."

"23 year old male, presenting with stomach pain, intermittent paralysis, yellowing of the eyes, acute paranoia, and illegal entrance to the States. Diagnosis?" House asked, rounding on Chase.

The Aussie just quirked an eyebrow. "Our patient's an illegal immigrant? What the hell's an alien doing in New Jersey? Don't they all stay in Miami or something?"

"Isn't it your job to save this man, not question me about trivialities such as the law? Who cares how he got here, care about what he got here." House snarked.

"Well, I need to see his medical history so give an accurate diagnosis. And are we sure he got it here, and didn't just carry it over from- where the hell is he from anyway?"

"Cameron and Foreman are already at his hovel. They'll be tied up most of the day, so you're Aussie brainpower is all I've got. Let's hope your it's as good as your looks are."

Chase sighed in frustration. "Look House, I don't care how fun you think this is, I can't do my job unless I know more. So either find a way to get his papers or I'm sorry, I'm going home." To stress his point, Chase stood up and made for the coat rack. House stopped him with his cane, his face oddly straight.

"Give me an hour." he said.

Chase looked at House, but avoided eye contact. He was still unnerved by what had happened on the roof. He finally shrugged and went back to his chair, pulling his crossword toward him. He heard House leave and make his way to Wilson's office.

* * *

True to his word, House had gotten the patient's medical history in the allotted hour.

Problem was, they were in Spanish.

"House, what the fuck are we supposed to do with these? Neither of us speak Spanish, Foreman and Cameron are gone, no one else here would even consider helping you, and we have dying man on our hands! This isn't the time to take the bloody piss!" Chase had yelled, reverting back to some of his Australian colloquialisms in his anger.

House had snorted. "Save it, Brit," he said, ignoring the reflexive 'I'm Australian.' "You want to save this guy, help me translate this." He pulled a Spanish to English dictionary out of his backpack and slammed it on the table. Chase looked at it with a look rather similar to one would give roadkill, and then made for the computer by the window. He shook it awake and clicked on the internet icon. He refused to sit for hours staring at a book of foreign words when he could easily punch it in the computer.

"No connection found. Please check your internet connection, or click on the troubleshooting guide below."

Chase read the message on the screen with horrified disbelief as House said, "Internet's down all over the hospital. Cuddy's going crazy trying to get it up again, but until she does we're stuck doing it the way the cavemen did." Chase groaned audibly before walking back to the table and taking a seat beside House. _The sooner we get this done, the better_, he thought bitterly. He gave House a scathing look before diving into the dictionary.

Hours passed, and soon it was dark in the conference room. Chase had been struggling to see for the past few minutes, but knew House would refuse to turn the lights on just to be an ass. He'd pretend he could read this even if he was in a cave, Chase thought to himself. He waited a few more minutes before he asked, "You wanna get the lights? I can't see anything."

"No." House said simply. Chase rolled his eyes and stood up. He stretched upwards, his joints cracking from sitting for so long hunched over a book. He made for the lightswitch, stepping around the papers that had drifted to the floor during the translation process. He had almost made it when he had stepped on House's cane. The thin piece of wood rolled back, causing Chase to slip and fall backwards, clotheslining House and bringing him (and the chair he was sitting in) down with him.

"Aw, _fuck. _That's gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning." he heard House mumble. Chase was having a tough time seeing, stars swirling around the edges of his vision. He had probably smacked his head a little to hard on the floor. That was when he felt a heavy weight shift on top of him.

House was lying directly on him, with Chase's face buried in the crook of his neck. Without even thinking, Chase inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed. House. He smelled musky, like all guys, with the telltale scents of cologne and aftershave. There was a wooden scent mixed in, spicy and foreign. Chase assumed it was from House's dresser or closet. He pressed his face into the skin, feeling the roughness and muscle beneath. He felt a scratching against the skin on the upper part of his forehead. House's stubble. Chase nuzzled against it a little, liking the tickling sensation. He felt a deep rumble, and realized it was House. Purring. It what could only be pleasure.

Oh, _fuck. _

He wiggled out from under House and scooted away until he was up against the wall. He drew his knees up and raised his hands up in front of him, launching into an explanation. "I-I-I fell a-and- he-head wasn't working ri-right- uh-uh-uh-y-you're- I wasn't sniff-wait, no I-I-" Chase stuttered before he finally just stopped talking. The two sat in a tense silence, the sounds of the hospital going on around them. Chase started when House finally talked, but was even more startled by what he said.

Which was, "Did you like it?"

Chase legitimately thought he was having an aneurysm.

When he finally pulled himself together, he found that House was sitting directly in front of him, face inches away from his. He found that House's eyes were holding his own captive, and that he didn't really mind. He found that he'd answered yes to House's question, and that House was slowly leaning in, eyes still locked on his. He found that their lips were barely touching, and that House was asking him if he wanted to, and he answered yes, lips moving against his.

And then all rational thought was thrown out a window into the path of a speeding freight train.

House was pressing Chase up against a wall, lips working against his, a rumble building up in the back of his throat. Chase opened his mouth a little to get some air to his already non-functioning brain, and instead got House's tongue sliding over his own, filling his mouth with hot breath and air and a taste unique to the man who had him pressed up against a wall, fighting a fierce battle for control of his own mouth. Chase was vaguely aware that House's hands were tangled up in his hair, massaging his scalp, sending waves of pleasure through his body, making him shudder against House and moan into his mouth. He brought his hands up to the back of House's head, pulling him closer, his moaning growing louder.

Then House tilted Chase's head all the way back, slid his tongue farther than what could possibly be safe, and Chase was drifting off, black was closing in, and he didn't want to stop, he wanted to stay like this, it felt so good-

Everything went black.

* * *

Chase came 'round to someone shaking him and calling his name. The lights had been turned on and the harsh fluorescent glare was hurting his eyes. He sat up slowly, his head pounding and croaked, "House?" squinting to better define the person that had been shaking him.

"House? Chase, House went home almost two hours ago. We came in and found you passed out on the floor. How long have you been here?" Chase squinched his eyes shut.

Blonde hair, a voice that had switched to obsessive-mother-mode...

Cameron. And when he opened his eyes again, he found Foreman standing behind her. Catching his eye, the man shrugged. "'S true man. House paged us to get to the hospital a while ago, but when we got here, we'd heard he'd left. We figured he'd left something here he wanted us to get, so we came up here, and found you. On the floor. Drooling."

Chase leaned forward into his hands and moaned.

Chase leaned forward onto his steering wheel and moaned.

He'd made out with House. His boss. His male boss. His male boss who'd proceeded to leave his body on the floor after making out with him. His male boss who might possibly be hot for.

Chase moaned again. He'd passed out, probably from lack of oxygen. He'd been expecting House to mock him about it, make blatant references to it with Foreman and Cameron in the room, announce it to the lobby of the hospital...

But nothing had happened. In fact, House had barely been in, much to Cuddy's displeasure. He'd been dealing with them all by phone, and Chase had done his damnedest to make sure he never had to answer it.

But now, he'd gotten the page. The page that could really only be from one person. Chase gritted his teeth as he stuck the keys in the ignition and shifted into gear. _Why had House kissed him? Why had he kissed back? Why did this happen now, after they'd known each other for so long? Had he always wanted this? _Questions were shooting across his mind faster than he could answer the few that actually _had_ an answer.

Chase was confused. And to un-fuse him he had to talk to the one person he really didn't want to see.

_God have mercy_, he thought ironically.

* * *

DEAR GOD. I felt so embarrassed writing this. It's so different when you actually have to write it.

Read, Review, flame, whatever. I could use the feedback. Sorry for the crappy medical bit in there. It was necessary for all.._.that _to happen, so...yeah. And if you're worrying about the patient... well let's just say you'll find House can be quite devious when he wants to be.

Flames, while they will be accepted without getting angry PM's in return, will be thrown at the elderly. Choose wisely~


	4. Smex

Sorry for the wait! I got stuck on this one, and I almost gave it up, but then I got my inspiration back! And my creativity, work-ethic and a whole buncha other stuff. But never mind that. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

**Smex**

**

* * *

**

At 3:32 A.M. you were sitting in your car outside his building, arguing with yourself over whether you should actually do this.

At 3:34 A.M. you were knocking on his front door, wishing you'd run away, knowing that this cannot possibly end well for you.

At 3:37 A.M. you were sitting on his couch, he was sitting in his recliner, tapping his cane on the floor, relishing in the awkwardness of the situation. Not knowing what to say, you stared into your lap, praying for something to save you.

At 3:38 A.M. you were still sitting on his couch, but you were drinking a beer that he'd kindly offered. You snuck a glance at him out of the corner of your eye and found that he was staring (rather creepily) at you. You lowered the bottle and stared back at him, but gave it up rather quickly when you started to get pulled into his eyes again.

At 3:44 A.M. you were still on his couch, drinking another beer, enjoying the subtle relaxation of your body due to the alcohol. You knew he was probably trying to get you drunk, but your, "mommy issues," (as House so eloquently put it) usually stop you from getting punch drunk.

At 3:50 A.M. you knew something was wrong. You were feeling hot, and even though you'd only had two beers your vision was going hazy. The heat kept climbing, and in the fog of your not-all-right-mind, you took off your shirt. You didn't notice how House gulped, didn't notice how he suddenly couldn't take his eyes of your chest, which by now was shining from the sweat. And you most certainly didn't notice when he reached down to, "readjust," himself.

At 3:56 A.M. you had somehow been tricked into taking your pants of as well, and were being guided down the hall to his bedroom. He'd, "stumbled," and when you tried to grab him, he'd pulled you down to the bed. You realized you were lying flush with his body on top of you, one arm around his neck from when you'd tried to catch him, and your head bracketed between his arms. You stared into his eyes, no longer caring about anything other than that moment, losing yourself in the bottomless blue.

At 4:07 A.M. he was leaning down, and you were suddenly very thankful for running away.

At 4:07:23 A. seemed to be in rather considerable mental distress, probably debating over whether or not this was a good idea. You thought that you should probably think about that too, but were way too horny for any deep thoughts.

At 4:07:27 A.M. he seemed to have gotten over it, and was starting to lean down again.

At 4:07:36 A.M. his lips were barely brushing yours and you were readying yourself for what would literally probably be the greatest ride of your life, when you felt a sigh, a slight side to side movement of his lips, and him start to push himself off you.

At 4:07:37:78 A.M. you made the decision to pull his head down to yours mashing your lips together in what most people would call a pornstar kiss: tongues were pushing down throats, saliva was being traded between mouths, groins were being rubbed together, causing you to moan and him to give a feral growl in the back of his throat.

At 4:07:38:21 A.M. you were knew you weren't gonna be walking all that well tomorrow.

At 4:15 A.M. he was pushing into you, and you were gasping out his name, along with several of your favorite Australian cuss words. He smirked down at you, then began attacking your neck, nibbling and licking until you were fighting to keep your eyes from rolling back into your head. After muttering a quick quip about, "being British," he began to pound into, and you were pretty sure you were gonna pass out due to pleasure.

At 4:17 A.M. you actually _did_ pass out, but when he hit _that _spot, you were wide awake, saying god-knows-what, almost unable to breathe it felt so good.

At 4:32 A.M. you passed out for good after coming so hard your vision went white, faintly hearing him panting out a release above you.

At 8:30 A.M. when his alarm went off, you realized two things; one, you were extremely late, and two, you were wrapped in a pair of arms, pulled against a firm chest that was rising and falling, a scruffy face next to yours, and a warmth that you never wanted to end. You smiled.

It's now 11:57 A.M. and you are rolling into work about four hours later than you usually do. You're going in with him, because he doesn't care about rumors, and after the two fucks and a blowjob you had and gave (in that order) you need something to support you, you're wobbling so bad. You're clinging to his arm almost pathetically, and you can feel everyone staring at you, wondering what in the hell is going on.

You make it to the elevator before your legs give out, and then you sit, wincing in pain as your ass hits the floor. He notices, smirks, and helps you up when the doors open. You cling to his arm again as you walk to the conference room, and when you enter you see Cameron, Foreman, Wilson, and Cuddy pacing around. A short tirade from the last reveals that they had had no idea what the two of you had been doing, or where you'd gone, and their calls had been ignored, and it all ultimately didn't matter because there was a dying man that needed treatment. Cuddy's heading for the door, Wilson on her heels, when he clears his throat, bangs his cane on the floor, grabs your wrist, pulls you in...

And kisses you. In front of everyone you have (and probably will have) had meaningful contact with. He smirks and leaves, and you listen as the erratic footsteps fade away while everyone stares at you. You stare at the floor, red to the roots of your hair.

Then you sigh. Run your hands through your hair. And sit down, to do a crossword puzzle.

After all, what's there to be ashamed of really good sex?

**End**

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Or is it? There's one last bit... read on kiddies. And review if you don't mind.

Disclaimer: If this didn't happen on the show, then I quite obviously DON'T own this.


	5. Secret

I felt like some things needed to be explained...

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**Secret**

**

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**

Later that night, once Chase had fallen asleep after another hot fuck, House snuck out of bed and made his way to the couch in the living room. Pulling up the cushions, he fished out a bottle and a manila folder.

In the folder was a medical file and a bill from a Spanish teacher at a local high school for a translation fee.

In the bottle were pills that the bottle labeled as a heavy aphrodisiac.

House looked at the items in his hand, and sighed. Then he opened his window and threw them out.

What his wombat didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

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Uh-oh... whatever will happen now? Maybe you'll find out in the new drabble-series I've got going, "It's a Wonderful World." Same pairing, but stuff's a bit choppier. The idea was inspired by ShizukaAme's, "The Buddy Collections." It's a series of Hilson with some Hilson/Chase goin' on. It's REALLY good, and what made me wanna do this and IAWW.

Reviews? Yes? No? Kay.

Disclaimer: Chase only ever gets drugged through his own stupidity, so this obviously wasn't real, meaning I do not own House. Besides the DVD's that is.


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